


Magicians Moon

by sadIittlenerdking



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, brief mentions of the beast, quentin is confused and eliot is a genius
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-23 21:06:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10727250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadIittlenerdking/pseuds/sadIittlenerdking
Summary: I was prompted by @cldfiredrgn on tumblr to write a fluffy drabble about Moonlight.So, Eliot's a secret romantic and Quentin is oblivious.





	Magicians Moon

The thing about Eliot, Quentin thinks as he’s quietly dragged through the cottage by his right hand, is nothing he does makes sense. It’s all carefully planned out, but he doesn’t explain anything until he absolutely has to. So, Quentin being pulled through the Physical Kids Cottage at two in the morning by an invisible force, while wearing nothing but a pair of boxers and socks - is clearly Eliot’s doing, but it makes _no sense._

Not even two hours ago, they’d curled up in bed, and fell asleep. Quentin to Eliot’s soft snores, and Eliot, well, to put it gently, Eliot was fairly spent after the nights events. For once. What? Quentin’s allowed to be smug every once in a while - it takes a lot to wear Eliot out.

Which makes this even more confusing.

Because apparently he’s not worn out at all, Quentin notes, as he finally gets through the back door and finds Eliot standing there with a mischievous grin on his face as he finally releases the spell and Quentin’s hand drops to his side.

“Did you wake anyone?” Eliot asks, quiet. Quentin tilts his head, fairly frustrated, because Eliot knows damn well he can’t speak. “Oh, right,” Eliot smirks, casts another spell, and Quentin can feel his vocal chords open up.

“What the -,”

“Quiet down, you’ll wake someone up!” Eliot admonishes, eyes flickering over the windows in the cottage. “And I want it to be just us for this.”

“For what?”

Eliot points up at the sky, and Quentin’s gaze follows the path of his index finger, to stare up at the moon. “Magicians Moon,” Eliot murmurs, moving forward and wrapping his fingers around Quentin’s wrist, “Tell me, Q,” He says, pulling him up against his side and leading him to the patio, “Have you ever seen a purple moon?”

Quentin shakes his head, “No … is that … a _thing_?”

“Not for the Ne’er-do-wells,” He says, frank as they take the steps down the patio, Quentin still held tight against Eliot’s side, with Eliot’s arms wrapped around his bicep and forearm, “It’s rare. And magical, hence,” He smirks down at Quentin, “Magicians Moon.”

“If it’s rare, shouldn’t we tell everyone about it?”

Eliot makes a face, like he’s personally offended by the suggestion. “Fuck no,” He states, voice rising as they get further away from the cottage. “Not many magicians know about it. It’s special. A secret, if you must.” He eyes, Quentin, stopping for a moment, “You can keep a secret, can’t you?”

Now it’s Quentin’s turn to look offended, and Eliot laughs, soft and lilting in the night air. “Where are we going?”

“We have to get to a breach in the wards.”

“There’s a breach in the wards?” Quentin’s voice rises in pitch, “Doesn’t that mean the beast -,”

“It’s a five minute, undetectable breach, calm yourself,” Eliot says, flippant as they cross through the barrier and into the woods. “I’m sure the beast is much too busy to find a breach so small. Besides,” He smiles, soft and knowingly, “I doubt the asshole even knows about the Magicians Moon anyways.” He adds, much quieter, like he’s talking to himself, “He wouldn’t be able to see it even if he did.”

“What’s that even mean?”

Eliot sighs, stopping and pulling away from him to cross his arms. “Do you really want to know?” He asks, tilting his head, “Because for me to explain it, it’ll take a fair while. And our window is closing. Do you want to see a purple moon, Quentin Coldwater?”

Genuinely, nothing ever makes sense with Eliot.

“I - I guess?”

He grins, reaching out and grabbing Quentin by the elbow and pulling along. “Great, because we’re almost there.”

So they walk on in silence, surrounded by trees and fireflies. Until they come to a clearing in the middle of the woods that Quentin’s never seen before, and something on Eliot’s face makes him think that’s because before tonight, it probably wasn’t here before. He barely has a moment to wonder if Eliot’ll get in trouble before hands are zipping through the air in a fast paced, graceful dance of a cast.

Quentin can’t help but watch, and Eliot looks over at him with a knowing smile. “Almost time.”

“Do I need to do anything?”

“Hmm,” Eliot looks thoughtful as he sends one more motion through the air and drops his arms to his side, “Just sit there, look pretty. Maybe hold me.” He tilts his head again, smirking, “Or is that too much to do at once? I can condense it.”

Quentin rolls his eyes, holding his hands out, “Shut up, El, and come sit with me, already,” He mutters, though there’s a small smile on his lips as the two of them move to sit on the - and there’s suddenly a blanket where Quentin thought was just ground. He eyes Eliot suspiciously, but Eliot just offers a half hearted shrug as he curls up against Quentin’s side. Quentin leans his head on Eliot’s shoulder, and Eliot rests his chin on top of Quentin’s head. “How long do we wait?”

“Shh,” Eliot whispers, lacing his fingers through Quentins. “You’ll ruin the moment.”

“Dick.”

Eliot chuckles, and it reverberates through Quentin’s chest, a soft, warming hum. They sit there for a few moments, Eliot breathing evenly, while Quentin wonders when any of this is going to make sense, but then, without any warning, it happens.

A small section of the wards open up, and this soft purple light comes dancing through, reflecting off the leaves on the trees around them, like the wards are refracting the moons light in some strange, natural disco ball. Even Eliot’s breath hitches as it happens, and his fingers tighten around Quentin’s hand, as he lifts his head and looks up at the sky and the trees.

“Holy shit,” Quentin breathes, because the light is dancing across his vision, like little ballerinas performing a show just for them.

Eliot leans down, though his eyes stay heavenward, “It’s pixie dust,” He whispers, “In the trees, from thousands of years ago. Or, so the books say. The Magicians Moon reignites the memory of the pixies, and it’s a little show,” Finally, he turns his gaze back on Quentin, “The Magician’s Moon is rare, can only be conjured on a specific night once every five hundred years,” He explains, stroking his thumb over the top of Quentin’s hand, “And can only be seen by the Magicians who conjure it, and whoever is with them.”

“Why?”

Eliot smiles, though it’s small, and he looks back up at the sky, “It, uh,” He swallows, and Quentin almost thinks he hears Eliot’s voice break when he continues, “Can only be conjured with love.” He flits his eyes across the trees, lips twitching as the light dances all around them. “True love.”

Oh.

A smile spreads across Quentin’s face, “Is that so?”

Eliot nods. “It,” He licks his lips and looks down at him, then, “It’s not a guarantee that you’ll see it. Until you do.” He waves a hand flippantly, “And then there it is.”

They look up, just as the wards start closing, and the lights slowly fade into regular moon light, bouncing off leaves and tree bark. They stare at the sky for a few long, agonizingly quiet moments, until Eliot clears his throat and pulls away. “So, purple moon.” He says, as he starts to stand up.

Quentin grabs his hand, holds him there. “You love me.”

Eliot’s head bobs for a moment before he shrugs. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It’s kind of a big deal,” Quentin says, pulling Eliot back down and onto the blanket. “I love you too, you know.”

“I know,” Eliot says, leaning in, planting a soft kiss on Quentin’s temple, “We wouldn’t have been able to see it if you didn’t at least love me a little bit too.” He grins as Quentin’s eyes go wide, “Come on, we should head back before you freeze to death.” His hand runs down the divet between Quentin’s pectorals, smirking as it elicits a shiver down his spine, and reminds Quentin that he is very much not dressed. “Honestly, you couldn’t even bothered getting dressed. Ridiculous.”

Quentin laughs as Eliot stands up and holds his hands out for him. He shakes his head as he places his palms in Eliot’s, allowing himself to be pulled up. “You’re such a dick, Eliot.”

“Yeah,” Eliot agrees, wrapping an arm across his shoulder, “But you love me anyways.”


End file.
